Shadow The Ring of Truth

The Ring of Truth

The Ring of Truth A _Shadow_ Short Story By OrangeTrafficCone _**Author's Note:** The characterizations in this story are based on the 1994 movie **The Shadow**, and was inspired by the collective works of Scarlet ... LDP_

Moe Shrevnitz never knows when his services will be required, yet he is more than happy to provide them at any moment. The gleam of sunlight reflecting off of his fire opal ring is a constant reminder of the debt he owes, a debt of his very life, for which that he is eternally grateful. He shuffles today's newspaper again, returning his mind to the here and now when there is another gleam from the ring, but this time it isn't the Sun: he is being contacted. Moe folds his paper, stuffs it between the visor above his head, and starts driving. He doesn't know to where he is supposed to be driving, he just knows that when he gets there, it will be the right place.

Soon enough, he guides the car down a side street, out of the brilliance of the sun on this crisp February day, and slows to a stop alongside a vacant building. One of the rear doors open and shut by itself, and what seems to be a disembodied voice issues a command: "**Drive.**" "Where to, boss?" Moe calls back to the seemingly-empty seat. "**The Cobalt Club,**" came the response from nowhere in particular. "**I promised someone a nice dinner this evening.**" Moe knew who that someone was, so there was no need to ask further. As the cab made its way back into the flow of New York's busy streets, Moe could see in his rear view mirror a dark swirling cloud form, then take the shape of Lamont Cranston, known by many as a rich playboy, but known by very few as the true identity of The Shadow.

Moe turned a corner, he found himself driving towards the afternoon sun. He unconsciously reached to pull the sun visor down once he had stopped at a street light, causing his newspaper to fall into his lap. Before the light changed, he was able to re-fold the paper and place it to his side, but not before Lamont noticed the small commotion. "That's today's paper?" he asked. Moe handed it back to his passenger, who proceeded to give it a quick read. "Boxing, Moe?" Lamont said, only the slightest amount of inquiry in his voice. "I'm just keeping up on current events," Moe explained as he continued weaving through traffic, "and by the looks of it, you might want to as well..." With that, Lamont begins a more careful read. "Jack 'The Red Demon' MacKenzie was found dead, shot down outside the gym where he trained," Lamont read. The article contined to tell of MacKenzie's recent string of successful bouts, and of his upcoming fight with Frankie Cupiola. "Hmm, the name 'Cupiola' sounds familiar..." Lamont mulled half to himself. Moe chimed in, "Didn't you send a Cupiola into Mulcahy's waiting cuffs a few months back?" "Yes! That's it!" Lamont exclaimed. "He's Jimmy Cupiola's younger brother. Frankie is one of the few from that family who's clean."

"He may be clean, but it looks like his family might be helping his career," Moe countered, handing Lamont a tattered paper. "When I read that article this morning, I thought the name was familiar as well. I found that under my seat: it's from two months ago." Lamont read the top article, and saw where Moe was heading with this. "Another boxer dead, another bright career, and another pending bout with Cupiola... That sound suspicious." Lamont's change in tone gave Moe the impression that its destination may be changing. "This bears looking into," Lamont said as his face wrinkled slightly with the expenditure of psychic energy. "I've asked Burbank to collect what he can about the career of Frankie Cupiola. I suspect he will find a pattern to his 'success'." And with that, Moe slides up to the entrance of the Cobalt Club. Lamont answered the question he saw forming in Moe's mind, "**I'll call you to pick me up later.**" Moe tipped his hat in silent response, and drove off to grab himself a bite to eat, and maybe a fare or two, as Lamont walked past the doorman and into the restaurant.

Lamont strode towards the table where Margo Lane was seated. She could sense something was going on, and projected a inquisitive thought towards him: _What is it?_ He responded in kind, "**Moe found what may be an organized series of deaths involving boxers. Burbank is investigating.**" Margo had seen a fair amount of gruesome scenes since she first met Lamont, so this did not upset her as such. The level of interest she was sensing from him did upset her, however, and it gave her pause. "You look worried," she said, using her voice rather than thought. Lamont nodded, "I am worried. I might not agree with their chosen profession, but I do admire their dedication to training their bodies." "Boxers can get injured, even killed..." Margo said, "It's a risk they have to accept" "I agree," Lamont countered, "but knowing some of them are losing their lives outside of the ring doesn't sit well with me." Margo knew where this was going, and knew there was no debating the point: defending the innocent from the forces of darkness was Lamont's life mission, after being rescued by the Marpa Tulka from the dark forces within him. The rest of their meal was uneventful and quiet, both verbally and mentally. A flash of Lamont's fire opal ring broke that silence, indicating that Burbank had the report ready. Margo didn't see the flash, but did see a darkening of Lamont's facial expression, and she knew that they would not spend the rest of the evening together.

* * *

Moe pulls up a moment later, and Lamont slides into the back. "Where to, boss?" Moe asked, more out of habit than need. The answer was as he expected: "**The Sanctum.**", and as he pulled away, his rear-view mirror reflected a gathering of smokiness that was all too familiar, as Lamont shifted out of the role, and garments, of a playboy, and into the Shadow. Moe refocused on the road, not wishing to experience the headaches he's had in the past from watching the swirling clouds too much. His cab took a circutuous route, finally stopping in a dark alley that separated two abandoned buildings. The rear door opened and closed by itself, if anyone else were there to witness it, and Moe waits for a moment, then slowly pulls away and back onto the streets.

Lamont works his way up to the roof of one of the buildings, then across to an adajent building, one that his inherited fortunes keeps in slightly better repair than most of the others in the neighborhood. The floors above ground are unremarkable, except for the access point to its sub-basement. It is there, within his Sanctum, where he can communicate freely with Burbank, one of his earliest, and best-connected agents. Lamont enters the main room, flips a switch on a large boxly device, and sits back in a leather chair, awaiting the image of Burbank to appear. Once it does, Lamont waits no further time. "**Report.**" he orders. Burbank is fully prepared, and starts to read the report. "Agents working in the archives of various newspapers compiled a list of 5 boxers in the last 3 months murdered prior to a scheduled match with Frankie Cupiola, and 4 others before matches with Anthony Tortelli. Detailed report to be delivered in the morning." Lamont would have liked to have the details now, but it was very late, and he knew it would be better to have the report in his hands rather than recited. "**Inform agents to be aware of any continuance of this trend.**", and powered off the device.

_It's not just Cupiola,_ Lamont thought, _it was Tortelli as well_. Anthony Tortelli was one the wrong side of a shootout between The Shadow and the xyz family about 5 months ago. What he didn't know right now was why this was happening. Calling for Moe, he resigned himself to the expectation of a fitfull night's sleep, and hoped the missing pieces would make themselves known soon.

* * *

Lamont was in Moe's taxi, having had only a light breakfast at home. He directed Moe to drive past a newstand, where he had told Burbank to deliver the report. Lamont asked for today's paper, his right hand hanging out of the opened window, the fire opal ring in clear sight. "The sun is shining", he said to the newsboy. "But the ice is slippery," came the coded response, and folded in the paper was the report from Burbank. Lamont paid for the paper, then rolled up the window as Moe sped away.

Moe had not heard what the other agents had found out, and he couldn't hold in his curiousity any longer. "What does it say, boss?" he asked. "Nothing good," was Lamont's curt reply. "Nine deaths in the last 6 months just prior to bouts with opponents tied to the xyz family." Moe hands Lamont his own copy of today's paper. "It looks like this guy might be number 10." Lamont takes the paper, folded to display a single article. "Tom Parker, an up-and-coming pugilist with a 6-0 record, will be fighting Frankie Cupiola tomorrow night at ..." Lamont crumbled the paper in his hands, "Not again... we need to stop this now." "Where to, boss?" Moe asks, a couple possible answers running through his mind. "We know the who, but we don't know the why... Lamont thought for a moment, then answered the question, "**To Schmitt's Gym; I need to talk to someone in the business.**" Moe acknowledged the command by swerving out the leftmost lane and into the right turn lane.

In very little time, and despite the midday traffic, Moe has reached Schmitt's Gym. He recognized the name: the manager was an agent, recruited a couple of years back. Lamont quickly stepped out of the taxi once it had stopped, and made his way into the building. Dave Schmitt, a cement block of a man, met Lamont a few steps outside his office. "The sun is shining," Lamont said to the boxer-turned-businessman, who responed in kind, "But the ice is slippery," and led Lamont into the office. Once the door was closed, Lamont wasted little time: "What happens to the bets and costs when a boxer cannot fight in a match?" "The bets are simple, it's counted as a forfeit: anyone betting on that boxer loses. As far as the costs of the fight, promoters tend to take out insurance to cover the risk of something happening to either the boxers or the ring itself. Is this related to what happened to MacKenzie?" Lamont nodded, "Someone thinks there is something bigger going on that needs to be stopped." An wave of relief swept over Schmitt's face. "I used to train with MacKenzie... I was shocked to hear the news." Lamont extended his hand in a gesture of thanks and farewell, which Schmitt accepted readily. "I need to file a report with this information," Lamont said, and headed towards the door. "Wish him luck," Schmitt said as a farewell. Lamont stopped in mid-stride, "Wish who luck?" he retorted. Schmitt got the point: "Right..." was his only response. Lamont continued out of the gym and into Moe's waiting car.

As Moe pulled away, he could tell that Lamont found the information he needed to fill in the missing piece. "It's money", Lamont said, answering Moe's unspoken question. "Either from betting or insurance. We will focus on the latter." "We?" Moe asked. "Yes, we're going to pay the venue owner a visit this evening." Moe knew better than to question why; he only responds as he knows he should: "Okay, boss."

* * *

As the taxi works its way through a heavy downpour, Lamont begins his transformation into The Shadow. Once the swirling clouds had dissipated, the occasional street light gave the only indication that there was anyone in the rear of the vehicle, with the casting of quick-moving shadows onto the seat. Lamont furrowes his brow slightly, engaging his projective powers. "**Mulcahy will soon be waiting for whom we send to him,**" Lamonts informed Moe. The driver just nods as he keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

Parking nearby, Moe is half-drenched by the time he reaches the back door to the venue. Two well-muscled men approach him, "What are you doing here?" the taller man says, the gruffness of his voice matching his attire. Lamont wastes no time in adjusting the guards' perceptions of Moe's arrival. "**He is here to speak to John DeLongia. He is expected.**" "You're here to see Mr. DeLongia." the other guard interjects. "Come on, he's expecting you." Moe nods quickly in thanks, visibly to the guards, but really to someone else, and ascends the short staircase into the building. There, he shakes off the rain, and asks aloud to no one in particular, "Where...?" Lamont provided the necessary directions, "**Second door on the right, knock twice, then enter**." Moe went as directed, and found himself face-to-face to a thin man sitting at his desk with a look of confusion on his face. "What are you doing here?" Moe had his story ready, "I'm from the insurance company, wanted to make sure you're set with the coverage for tomorrow night."

"I see...", said DeLongia, rising to shake Moe's hand. "There's only one problem with that policy... we haven't set it up yet." Moe's neck tensed as DeLongia held their handshake tight, then called out to the men outside, "Get in here!"

Moe kept his eyes on DeLongia as the two men thundered into the office. "**What's your hurry? No need to run, you might slip...**" came a voice from everywhere and nowhere at once, followed by the deep laughter that stopped the two men in their tracks. "What...? Where...who is that?" DeLongia said, a look of panic dominating his face. "**I think you know _who_, but you won't know the _where_**", as The Shadow laughed again, louder than before. The guards look at each other, then start towards the door. "**Here, let me get that for you...**" as The Shadow swings the office door closed, causing them to crash into it, and each other. DeLongia broke his grip on Moe's hand, then rushed back towards his desk. "**You need slow down, before you get hurt...**" came the deep, omnipresent voice of the Shadow, Moe reached out to grab DeLongia, and saw a blur of smoke cross in front of the promoter. The fleeting image of a fist appeared right at the jaw of DeLongia, made contact, then sent him flying back towards Moe. The guards managed to get back onto their feet in time to have their legs knocked out from under them. They didn't have long to consider this new position, as they were soon knocked out cold by what appeared to be a flock of gray comets. Moe was able to easily restrain DeLongia, as the promoter found it challenging even to stand unassisted after The Shadow's assault on his jaw. Moe plopped him into a nearby chair, then stepped back and gave The Shadow space to finish the job.

"**Get the insurance contracts for the Cupiola fights,**" The Shadow commanded. DeLongia complied, then sat back down. "**You will turn yourself in to the police patrolman outside, hand him the contracts, and tell them you arranged for the killings of the other fighters to collect the insurance money, as well as the wagers.**" DeLongia nodded slowly, "I will turn myself in to the police, hand them the contracts, and tell them I arranged the killings of the boxers." "**You will forget we were ever here. Now, Go!**" DeLongia got up, stepped over the unconscious guards, and out the office. Moe let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the sport he enjoyed just got a little bit safer.

Fin


End file.

Shadow, Adventure, Supernatural